Waiting and Hoping
by Scription Addict
Summary: Response to the make Spencer happy challenge, she's late and he's waiting, waiting and hoping.


Waiting and Hoping.

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Response to the 'Make Spencer happy challenge' have struggled with writing lately, so am hoping it's okay.

Disclaimer - I own nothing, and make nothing from this fic. All rights belong to the BBC and creators of WtD.

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So I'm waiting, in a bar, and I have no idea if she'll turn up, I don't know why I did it, I didn't know I had it in me, my school teacher would have said I lacked the impetus to carry out the task ahead of me, but this time I did it. I took action and I bloody well asked her, I took the bull by the horns and all that, I just asked, and now I'm just hoping.

Every time the door opens I jump, thinking, no, hoping it might be her, but she's a no show so far. The bar man raises his head at me and gives me a sympathetic smile, "can I get you another beer sir?" He asks me, he knows damn well I've been stood up. I nod my head back at him; if in doubt have a drink, that's my motto.

She's thirty minutes late now, I'll give it till eight; after all, it's not a bad kind of place to sit, even if I am on my own. Why did I do it, my mouth went into bloody overdrive before my brain could stop it, will you meet me for a drink, that was it, seven words that could make me complete, or make me look like a complete Muppet. Her face was a picture; I didn't know if she was going to laugh, cry or hit me, bloody hell, what have I done?

She's not going to turn up, I thought she might have the decency to text me, why didn't she just make an excuse, I'm washing my hair Spence! I've made other arrangements Spence! Sorry Spence I can't make it, anything would have done, even, I can't stick you Spence, go and bother someone else you weirdo. But don't just stand me up, it's not nice.

It's quarter to eight, we were supposed to meet at seven, well seven to seven thirty. I booked a table for eight thirty, just in case she wanted to eat, I guess I should cancel it, I'll leave it till eight, then I will. The bar is quite popular, very fashionable, full of young professionals winding down after a hard day at the office, some fine looking women, and some dodgy looking blokes making prats of themselves. The barman gives them a seriously dirty look, then he looks at me and rolls his eyes. I guess he's seen it all before, probably on a daily basis being as this place is in the middle of the city, it would be enough to test the patience of a saint. The main instigator is tall and slim, with a receding hairline that he still tries to style into something fashionable; someone really should tell him it's a lost cause. They've taken to calling the barman, boy and snapping their fingers at him! He looks at me, and I shake my head at him to indicate my contempt for the gang of pinstriped arseholes, who dress like gentlemen and behave like hooligans. I check my phone, no messages, no missed calls, nothing.

The door opens and I see a pair of very long legs that are almost covered by a very short skirt, my eyes start at her feet and look up, she looks gorgeous, but, alas it is not my date. As beautiful as the woman is, she obviously isn't a very good judge of character, because she walks over to the leader of the pinstriped hoodies and kisses him deeply, one foot automatically rising from the floor a little as she embraces him. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he's a really nice guy, married with two point four kids, drives a Mercedes and lives in a big detached house, maybe he just plays at being a dick head in his spare time, but then again. Whatever he is or does, he is certainly punching above his weight with her. I realise that I'm staring, and what's worse is, I realise that they've realised I'm staring, oops. I've looked away, but not before arsehole in chief decides to say something.

"Did you get a good enough look mate? You want to see some more?" He kisses her again, really going overboard; I look away and hope he'll do the same. "Fucking pervert, you want to get yourself down to the park if dogging's your thing mate." I don't respond, I simply glance at my watch, it's eight o'clock.

"Can I get you another drink sir?" The barman asks me, trying to diffuse the situation.

"No thank you." I reply with a smile.

"Are you leaving Mr Dogger?" Mouth almighty doesn't want to let it be. "You wanna get yourself a girl mate, and then you won't need to get your rocks off watching other people." His comments cause his band of brothers to laugh, and he clearly likes the attention as he doesn't seem keen to give it up, so I get up to leave. "Ahh don't leave Mr Dogger, we'll give you another show." I turned to face him, hand in my pocket ready to produce my warrant card.

"Oh he doesn't need a show from you, not when he can put on a show of his own."

The voice from behind me is unmistakable, she's here, she didn't stand me up. Before I have time to turn and face her, she's grabbed my hand, and spun me on my heel, the sheer force of her actions almost thrusting me into her arms, and as I come face to face with her she presses her lips hungrily to mine, giving the pinstriped brigade something to talk about.

"Do excuse me gents," I say with a smile, "me and the lady have some catching up to do."

She gives them a cheeky wink, and with that beautiful and soft Irish accent says, "Top of the morning to you lads."

The End


End file.
